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My Date From Hell!
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My Date From Hell! A True Story By KyCre8iveMan NOW THE STORY YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ, MAY SEEM TOTALLY WEIRD AND COMPLETELY CRAZY…BUT HAND OVER MY HEART…IT’S THE COMPLETE TRUTH!! I met a young lady on another dating website. She was 35-years-old, had long platinum blonde, curly hair and the face and body of a Goddess. We chatted for a while on the website and through personal emails. Eventually, we exchanged cell and spoke several times on the phone. Finally she agreed to go out on a date and we arranged to meet at a nice restaurant. But about an hour before I was to meet her, she called and told me her car had broken down. She asked if I could come by her house and pick her up…to which, I agreed. She gave me her address and texted the directions to her house. But when I knocked on the door to her home, I was met by a young lady that did not look anything like her photos on the website…plus, she was wearing a sheer silk baby-doll nightgown. I was at first taken-back by the fact that the girl wasn’t dressed, but I was also a bit upset that she didn’t look anything like the girl I had seen from the site. My first thought was that she might be the roommate of my date. But that hope was dashed when she introduced herself and shook my hand. Now I know some people post old or edited photos (after all, I’m a professional photographer and I retouch photos all the time). But this girl was completely different in every way possible. She was skinnier, her boobs were smaller, her hair was straight and stringy and the color of her hair was more like a dirty-blonde. Plus, she was exceedingly unattractive and looked nothing like the girl in the profile photos. She even had this ungodly, humongous mole on her chin. The best way to describe the difference in her appearance was when Princess Theona turns into a female ogre in the Shrek movie. Eventually I gained my composure (glanced at my watch) and asked if she needed more time to get ready for the restaurant. She smiled and took my hand and suggested that we sit on the couch and talk for a bit. I entered the living room, sat down on the couch beside her and we started up a conversation. I think she noticed the look of disbelief on my face while we were talking and occasionally looked away, I can only assume that she was hoping that it would deflect from the fact that she looked nothing like the photos she had posted. One thing led to another, and eventually, she leaned in and kissed me. Up to this point, I was upset that I’d been deceived by her photos…but since it had been a while since I had been intimate with anyone, I forgot my concerns. Well…kissing led to hugging, and hugging led to me fondling her boobs through her nightie. Which once again threw me for a loop, because they were not only incredibly fake…her nipples were hideously lop-sided, and pointed outward towards her armpits. To this day, it’s still an image that’s burned horribly in my brain. Okay, now we’ll fast-forward through some more heavy petting. Eventually, she suggested that we take it to the bedroom so we could be more comfortable. Now at this point, there’s a little “Robbie The Robot” (from the Space Family Robinson television show, Lost In Space) running through my head, waving his arms and exclaiming in a mechanical voice…”Warning, Will Robinson…Warning.” But my pecker overrides my brain and tells my little robot to go fuck himself (which is anatomically hard for a robot to do…but then I digress). Once again we fast-forward to the bedroom, where we’re sitting on the edge of the bed and she has removed the top of her nightie. By the way, did I mention that I still had my coat on? I don’t know how or why…but I was still completely clothed. Which turns out to be a good thing anyway. After a bit more kissing and fondling her malformed boobs, she eased back, and in a sultry voice said, “I need to ask a favor before we go any farther.” Now, here’s where my brain finally kicks in and thinks, “well this is as far as it goes…because you didn’t plan on having sex, so you didn’t buy any condoms.” But once again (to my chagrin) she stumped me by saying, “I need you to give me $160.00.” At this point, I think my jaw probably hit the shag carpet floor. With one eye cocked above the other, I stare at her and ask…”what for?” She flashes a friendly smile and tells me that I need to pay her if I want to have sex with her. To which I once again stare blankly and ask…”why?” She stares at me like I’m a moron and then it finally hits me…(a bit slow, but it finally sinks into my thick head) this girl is a !!! At this point, my little “Robbie The Robot” is doing a victory dance in my head…while pointing his mechanical finger at my pecker and yelling…”IN YOUR FACE!” After an awkward moment of silence, I finally gather up the nerve to tell her that I’m sorry, but I have no intention of paying for sex and that this has been a horrible mistake. I attempt to get up from the edge of the bed, but she grabs my jacket sleeve and pulls me back onto the bed. She then tells me that I should at least give her $80. Once again, I stare at her with a blank expression and ask, “Why?” She then points to her crookedly weird boobs and says, “because I kissed you and let you play with my tits.” Now, I will admit at this point that what I did next could have been handled better…but instead, I let out a chuckle and sarcastically replied, “Hon, with your fucked-up tits you're lucky that I didn't ask you for money to play with them, much less give you $80!” Just then I felt a sharp, stinging sensation to the right side of my face (which probably happened when her clenched fist made a sudden impact to my right eye). After hitting me in the eye, she jumped up from the bed and stood in front of my face, screaming enough obscenities that would make a sailor blush. At this point my, “Robbie The Robot” has stopped his victory-dance and is now waiving both arms in the air and shouting, “Get the hell out of here…this bitch is crazy!” That’s when I gently nudge her out of my way and head toward the bedroom door. But as I am reaching for the door handle, I catch a glimpse from the corner of my eye…the crazy bitch has grabbed a wooden bar stool and is swinging it toward my head. Instinctively, I raised my left arm to block the blow. The wooden portion of the seat makes contact with my arm and makes a cut about 2 inches in length in the skin. Unscathed by my defense, she swings again. This time the bar stool makes contact to the side of my forehead and the side of my nose. I reach up and feel my forehead, and in doing so, I see that my hand is now covered with blood. At this point I’m totally pissed, and when she attempts to swing the stool again, I jerk it out of her hands and throw it across the room. I raise my fist in an effort to punch her in the face. But, the gentleman in me, makes me stop short and drop my fist. WHY? Because, I was brought up by my family that a man never hits a woman. As I once again reach for the door handle, the crazy bitch slaps the back of my head and calls me every foul name in the book. I turn the handle and glance back at her for a brief second while I open the door. BIG MISTAKE! When the door opens…I’m met by a 6-foot 4-inch, 280+ pound black man (either her boyfriend or ) punching me in my nose (causing blood to gush profusely from it). The force of his fist causes the back of my head to hit the edge of the wooden door and I see a blinding light. Unable to control myself, I fall backwards towards the floor. But as I’m falling, I grab the door handle and try to stop myself. BIG MISTAKE! The action causes my upper arm to jerk completely out of my shoulder socket. I must have passed out for a bit…because the next thing I feel is the guy sitting on my chest and going through my jacket pockets…probably looking for my wallet...which unbeknownst to him was outside in the console of my Jeep Wrangler. After all...I didn't think I'd be needing it until we got to the restaurant. This is when my inner HULK came out (I don’t really turn green) and I punched him in his Adam's apple (an old trick I learned in karate classes). The behemoth clutches his throat, falls backward and starts choking desperately. TREMENDOUS PAIN!!! I had totally forgotten that my arm was dislocated from my shoulder. Grabbing my arm, I stumble to my feet…only to see the crazy bitch has once again grabbed the bar stool and is racing toward me. But as she does, the guy pulls himself up to his knees. But before he has a chance to regain his senses, I gather up my strength and kick him in his chest, causing him to fall backward into the barstool-wielding bitch from hell. They both tumble onto the floor. But as the /boyfriend tries to regain his feet…I grabbed the barstool from the floor and pointed a bloody finger at him and yelled, “if you get up again, I’m going to put your ass down permanently!” He reluctantly waves me on while shaking his head no. I turn and leave the room. As I walk into the living room, I tossed the barstool across the room, smashing a table-lamp. On my way out the front doorway I slammed the storm door so hard it shattered glass everywhere. As I stumble toward my Jeep Wrangler I fumbled through my jean’s pocket searching for my car keys. Eventually, I pull them free and unlock my door. But, as I’m climbing into the driver’s seat I see the psycho bitch (with a fireplace poker clenched in her hand) and her /boyfriend (with a large butcher knife in his hand) running out the front doorway. But as they run towards my Jeep to greet me, I reach into my center console and pull out my handy little 9mm semi-automatic Smith & Wesson pistol. And as they get within 10-feet of me, I cock the pistol and aim it towards them. If I hadn’t been in so much pain from my bedroom encounter, I would have laughed my ass off when I saw them falling over each other, running back into the house and slamming the door behind them. Luckily, I had listened to my little “Robbie The Robot” earlier and placed the pistol into the console before I left the house. After starting my Jeep and driving to the end of the street, I took my cell phone out and started to call the police. But as I sat there thinking about what had transpired…it hit me. WHAT THE HELL WOULD I TELL MY FAMILY? I knew I was critically injured…but I had just been in a knock down fight with a crazy barstool-wielding and her /boyfriend. So, I put my cell phone away and drove towards my home. On the way to my house…my vision was blurry and I kept feeling like I was going to pass out. I knew I needed medical attention…but I had no idea on what I was going to do or say to them about what caused my injuries. If I told them the truth…they would probably notify the police. Eventually I came up with the idea that I would tell the ER staff that I fell down the stairs…that would explain my injuries and the police would never become involved, since it was just a simple accident. BUT, then I saw a MAJOR FLAW in my scheme. What if the doctor decided to admit me to the hospital for overnight observation? They’d probably contact my or one of my daughters and tell them about my accident. Then what would happen if one of my went to my house? They would see there was no indication or evidence of the fall. So, thanks to watching my favorite shows CSI Las Vegas and CSI Miami, I went home and staged my accident. YES, THIS IS ABSOLUTELY TRUE! I walked down to the basement and smeared the blood from my hand on the stair rail and on the concrete wall at the foot of the stairs. My bloody handprints made it look as if I was groping the wall trying to pick myself up. Satisfied that the crime scene would pass any CSI team, I climbed back into my Jeep and drove myself to the hospital. But as I was getting out of the jeep and pushed the car door shut, my arm popped back into my shoulder socket. I think people within 3-4 city blocks probably heard my blood-curdling scream. Fast-forward once again through X-rays of my left arm and right shoulder, and a cat scan of my head. The ER doctor determined that I had suffered a concussion to the back of my head; my nose was broken; I had a slight gash on my forehead and the cut on my left arm required 4-stitches to close it up. My right arm was totally dislocated from my shoulder (but what happened to me in the ER parking lot cheated the hospital out of the cost of resetting it). I also had a cracked rib, a black eye, split lip and numerous bruises and scrapes all over my body. It was a good thing that I staged the crime scene at my house, because the doctor said that they couldn’t treat me unless I had someone drive me home. They were actually surprised that I drove myself to the hospital without passing out. They called my and he came to the hospital and drove me home. When he and my -in-law cleaned up the basement wall, my made the comment that my bloody palm-prints looked like something from a horror movie. So my first date was not exactly what you'd call a fairy tale story. I guess you could say that I didn’t get laid…BUT I DEFINITELY GOT FUCKED!  I hope you enjoyed my story and learn from my mistake. I certainly have. Thank you, KyCre8iveGuy |
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sorry you had to go through that. So many fakes and scammers.I never had anything as dramatic but met a couple years ago who did not look anything like their pic. and i immediately walked out of the restaurant. i did not even make an excuse like going to the bathroom or out to the car i just left. What the fuck is wrong with people.
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First meet at his or her house is a big mistake. You learned the hard way.
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Frightening as that story is ... I was laughing .... your writing style just flows nicely, Kentucky ... your sarcastic sense of humor is fun to read ... Is this just the beginning in a series of online dating encounters with the ***KY-cre8tive-man? *** You are a gem ....
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